My third eye glazes over As the world grows colder A smoldering mass destroying us Societal entropy has a hold of me All I want to do is write and bring joy
By Atomic Historian2 months ago in Poets
Monroe succulent, also known as chubby little stone flower, has a natural, gentle beauty. With the light green color of the leaves, the pink, white, and yellow colors of the flowers will brighten up any space.
By HieuDinh2 months ago in Poets
How beautiful was our soul kinship Hiding from the moon's dreamship The waves that kissed the shore were buried As they gathered the silence you carried You were dancing under bright skies And I was hidden beneath that paradise Wild evenings shyly smiled When you softly chuckled You were in my cradled home I was hidden in your heart alone My breath grew heavy with the peace When love wandered within your embrace The dreams once adorned with longing Carrying the fragrance of lost belonging Now the winds return them To where your presence shines like a gem You were in my cradled home I was hidden in your heart alone My breath grew heavy with the peace When love wandered within your embrace Bound to the hope of a wounded bird But you stand far away your reflection is blurred Why do you return in floods of tears To reclaim that lost time and falling years How beautiful was our soul kinship hiding from the night's dreamship You were dancing in under bright skies And I was hidden beneath paradise You were in my cradled home I was hidden in your heart alone My breath grew heavy with the peace When love wandered within your embrace
By Karan w. 2 months ago in Poets
Incandescent; The sea below is a mouth of teeth and dark forgotten names. Warnings say its hunger is patient, that it waits for those who climb too high.
By W. Joe O'Banion2 months ago in Poets
I own a jacket just for storms that start inside the phone, a second skin I keep for bad news, heavy and overgrown. It hangs beside the door like rain that never learned to fall.
By Milan Milic2 months ago in Poets
Our kitchen is a harbor where the dishes learn to drown, a coastline built of chipped white cups and forks that face me down.
Plant the seeds now, in the actions we take In laughter and love, joy and regret Seeds of the memories that we will make Parts of our lives that we'd grieve to forget.
By Natasja Rose2 months ago in Poets
Your side of bed still holds a shape that clocks refuse to know, a shallow moon where gravity remembers how you go. The sheets have learned your silhouette, the dent your dreams once made—
We stitch raincoats for our secrets out of half-remembered nights, from shower curtains, childhood quilts, and hand-me-down goodbyes.
I keep a ring of metal moons that never learned my sky, a jangle of old alphabets that no more doors reply. They’re fossils of before-times, love—of locks we used to share,
I found a shoebox in the dark behind a winter coat. Its cardboard spine is still whispering like a paper-throated throat.
The roof remembers how we turn toward weather and light. Your vow was copper, spinning slow in the square of the window.
